Hustle Page 3

  After I’ve fed the family, I can finally relax in full. I watch a bit of Community, but I can’t stop thinking about Gabe. All sorts of lewd and wonderful thoughts stream into my head, so much so I head to bed early fully intent on wearing the batteries in my vibrator out.

  I deal with the others first, putting them to bed. The gliders love to be near me. I normally wear two shirts to bed so they can hang out between them and not tickle-slash-scratch me to death, but not tonight. They are incredibly social creatures, but tonight they’ll just have to hang with each other.

  I place them carefully into their cage, right of the sunroom. “Sorry, guys, but Momma needs some alone time tonight.”

  I take a quick shower and get into bed, lying there stiff as a board under the covers.

  You’re really going to do this?

  The vibrator, fresh from its packaging, sits on the bedside table.

  I look at it nervously. Better go au naturale first, come in with the heavy artillery later.

  I haven’t touched myself since I was sixteen, but this feels right. I’ve never had the appropriate, uh, image to fixate on, but I do now.

  I shift and wiggle. “You can do this,” I tell myself.

  My hand is shaking as I slip it under the waistband of my panties and let it settle over my sex.

  It’s hot down there. That’s the first thing I notice—hot and wet.

  I conjure up Gabe, naked now, his back turned.

  Cute bum. How about you turn around?

  He does and I give a little jerk as I see it—all of him.

  HQ, copy. We have found a weapon of mass destruction. I repeat, we have found a weapon of mass destruction.

  I smile broadly at this while I let an exploratory finger run downwards into the slick heat gathering between my legs. My knuckles press the crotch of my panties out as I bring the finger back up, letting the pad of it sit against my clit.

  Could I be with a guy like Gabe?

  I think the question is, could a guy like Gabe be with a girl like you?

  It’s a fair call. I’m not exactly normal, whatever that means. I’m not like my friends or the hip characters in the TV show I watch. I don’t like to fuss over my makeup or pore over online stores for hours.

  I hear my grandmother: “You’re an odd one, Shannon.”

  My finger stops.

  No, no. Think of Gabe. Think about his chest, those rippling, corrugated abs.

  You can touch them, he laughs, this imaginary man in my head. They’re not going to bite.

  I start to move my finger in concentric circles, concentrating now. My back arches off the bed, my muscles pulling and releasing.

  I add a second finger to the first, the need and arousal building in my core, knotting there.

  It’s been so long since I’ve felt horny like this.

  At this moment I do want to have sex. I do want to come, screaming and clutching at the sheets like they do in the movies, my throat burning with his name. “Oh, Gabe! Yes, do it! Fuck me! Harder. Harder.”

  I want to buckle and explode from the inside out, see constellations before my eyes. I want it more than I’ve wanted anything in my life.

  I want to experience an orgasm, just once.

  My fingers are really working now, my legs spread wide and my sopping core exposed.

  I think about Gabe and I touch myself.

  I don’t come. I don’t experience the mysterious ‘big O.’ The fancy vibrator Jenny gave three years ago is no help.

  But it does feel pleasant, nice.

  One thing is clear, though. I need the real thing… and fast.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  GABE

  I arrive back at Mom’s hospital room with my own plate of slop.

  I place it down on the side table and pick up a spoonful, watch it drop back onto the plate. “I see what you mean,” I tell Matt, who’s watching what appears to be Survivor on the small TV above the bed. “The food was better at BUD/S.”

  Matt turns to me. “Say what?”

  I notice there’s some sort of zig zag line in his hair. He’s an attractive guy, but he’s always fucking with his hair. I’ve never understood it. “Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL training. Sorry, I forget I’m surrounded by civilians now.”

  “You make me sound like some sort of pussy.”

  “And you’re not?” I smirk.

  Matt nods to Mom. “It’s a good thing she’s asleep.”

  I shovel a spoonful of what I believe was labeled ‘bean medley’ into my mouth, chew, and swallow. For the last decade eating’s been routine, a task. That’s going to take adjustment in itself, to remember to actually enjoy it.

  But not this. I’d rather a plate of de-hy cardboard.

  Matt switches off the TV. “Now, Rambo, you ready to spill about your mystery girlfriend?”

  “Right? Where’s that shovel when you need it?” I place the spoon down and bring my hands together. “I may have stepped in it a little there.”

  Matt’s always had a pretty good read on me. “So you don’t have a girlfriend?”

  “In a manner of speaking, no, but I do have someone in mind. I’ll bring her in, put on a little show… Mom will be none the wiser. Trust me.”

  Matt’s loving this. He leans back with his hands behind his head, his feet up on the bed. “You really think so?”

  “You should have seen how happy she was when I told her.”

  Matt puts his hands up. “Of that I have no doubt. It’s just…”

  “What?” I press.

  “This is exactly the kind of shit you would have pulled once upon a time.”

  “’Once upon a time’? What’s that supposed to me?”

  “Before you became the terminator.”

  “Are you referring to me or my dick?” I ask.

  He laughs, head down. “We both know being hung like a steel girder runs in the family. Is that how you’re going to do it, get this mystery girl to sign up to your crazy plan here? You doing to drop your pants and drag it out, hypnotize her with your big ol’ pork sword?”

  I kick his feet off the bed. “It sure wouldn’t work with that pocket watch you’ve got for a penis.”

  Matt ignores the jibe. “How many times have I warned you to think before you speak, huh? I’m sure they teach ‘act on your impulses’ and all that in the frog squad, but you’re back to reality now, big boy. We’re adults here in the real word.”

  He’s joking, but still there’s a small sting at his words. He’s right. Acting on impulse is my weakness. My impulsiveness has led to a lot of dark days—serious fucking problems. But Matt doesn’t need to hear about it. No one does. I’ll deal with it my own way. “Honestly,” I tell him, “I don’t know if I can deliver here.”

  Matt doesn’t gloat. He knows the only person this is going to hurt in the end if Mom. She’s been through enough. “And there it is, the truth. So, what are you going to do?”

  I rub my temples. “I don’t know. I might, might be able to get this one girl on board, but she’s a little out there. I don’t know if she’ll go for it.”

  “Define ‘out there.’”

  “Quirky, eccentric… I don’t know.”

  “Sounds like a perfect match,” Matt smiles.

  As Mom said, opposites do attract, and there is attraction there. My cock’s already twitching at the thought of seeing Shannon again. “I’ll keep things vague,” I continue, “for Mom’s sake.” I swallow hard. Give me drown-proofing any day over this. “There’s more.”

  Matt sees it coming. “There always is with you.”

  “Mom kind of thinks we’re engaged.”

  Matt’s on his feet now. “Engaged? Jesus, Gabe. That’s going to be a lot harder to pull off.”

  “You don’t think I know that?”

  He’s shaking his head, exhaling. “Maybe this is taking it too far.”

  “Let me give it a shot.”

  Matt throws his hands up again. “Whatever, bro, but just remember
that look on Mom’s face and how bad you’re going to feel when it’s replaced by one of disappointment.”

  Quiet settles over the room.

  When it doesn’t look like Mom’s going to wake up any time soon, I step out.

  I stand in front of the hospital, a strong breeze blowing through, an silent ambulance slowly driving past.

  I step to the side and take out my cell. I pull up Shannon’s number, staring at it.

  This is fucking insane.

  Screw it. I hit dial and wait.

  “Hello?” comes a tentative, timid voice.

  “Shannon, hi,” I begin. “It’s Gabe.”

  *

  The following day the breeze has given away to a perfect stillness, the skies dotted with cotton clouds.

  I see her approaching, backlit by the sun. Somehow, dressed casually like this, she’s even hotter than I remember.

  As she comes closer I notice she’s wearing jeans and a T-shirt for some sort of animal shelter that’s tight across her chest. Her caramel hair is out, bouncing on her shoulders as she walks, and she’s smiling. It’s not a typical ‘Let’s get it on’ smirk, but a wide, beaming smile not unlike the one Mom had when I told her the ‘good news.’

  I stand from the bench and for a moment, I actually don’t know what to do. I would have slayed this stuff in my younger years, but something about this is different. She, Shannon, is different.

  She goes to open up her arms, maybe to embrace me, before pulling back and giving a mousy little laugh that goes straight to my dick, running her hair back behind her ears, glancing at me sideways, her cheeks turning. I want to pick her up and slam her against the wall, feel how tight the walls of her pussy are around my cock.

  “Should I… um… sit?” she asks, snapping me out of my daydream.

  I sit and pat the space beside me. “Yeah, sure. Take a load off.”

  Take a load off? Nice start, player.

  I hold my hands between my legs. I look around. “Nice park.”

  She leans forward, swinging her legs and following my eyes. “Dad used to bring me here when I was a kid. She points. “There’s a whole family of squirrels in that tree over there.”

  Get to it. “Look,” I start, tweaking the phrasing in my head, “I need your help.”

  “You need my help? Aren’t you the big bad sailor?”

  “I’m a SEAL, actually.”

  Again, it just slips on out. I never tell anyone what I do, not really, but for some reason my guard’s down around this girl.

  When the confusion doesn’t lift, I add, “A Navy SEAL.”

  “Oh,” she says, “like Bruce Willis in, what was that movie? Tears of the Sun, right?”

  I let that one slide. “Something like that, but this isn’t a Navy matter. It’s more of a personal request.”

  I see her swallow. “I see.” She’s nervous.

  I don’t blame her.

  Just fucking say it. “I’d like for you to be my fiancée.”

  Her mouth drops a little. “Uh…” I’ve completely and utterly bamboozled her. Dropping a flashbang between us would have been less confusing.

  “Not for real,” I add.

  She’s shaking her head. “I don’t understand.”

  I’m fucking this up. My head’s screaming ‘Abort, we’ve been compromised!’ but I’ve got to press on. “Let me clarify, define the parameters.”

  Define the fucking parameters? Are you fucking serious right now?

  The confusion doubles down on her face, but god damn is it adorable. I want to take her right now. “Parameters?” she queries.

  I run my fingers over each other. “I’ve really fucked this up. Can I start over?”

  She nods, hands gripping the edge of the bench tight. “Sure.”

  A group of kids blasts past on their scooters, breaking my train of thought. When they clear, I’m lost again.

  For fuck’s sake get it together. “Look, I know this is weird, but it’s for a good cause.”

  That seems to warm her up a bit. She seems like the ‘good cause’ type, the kind of girl who’d happily answer a door-knocker and hand over her life savings if she knew it would benefit someone in need.

  “This is weird, isn’t it?”

  Now she smiles again, laughing, dragging a strand of hair out of her eyes, no longer hiding behind it. “Yeah, it sort of is.” When she turns her eyes towards me I don’t know if I’ve ever seen anything so beautiful. The clarity in them, the depth of the blue… It’s extraordinary. I know it and my cock sure as hell agrees, tightening in my pants.

  A park bench ain’t a good place to get an erection, brother.

  Ice broken, I soldier on. “My mother has terminal bone cancer.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry.” And there’s the good Samaritan I was hoping for.

  “It’s fine, really, but I’ve been on deployment for a long time, almost a decade, in fact. I joined the Navy right out of high school and only just retired. I’m twenty nine, single. I suppose my mother just wants to see me happy before she… you know.”

  Shannon’s not stupid. She’s piecing it together. “So you told her you were seeing someone?”

  “Worse.”

  I can smell the sweet jasmine scent of her. If my cock gets any harder it’s going to pop these rivets right off my jeans.

  She nods with understanding. “You told her you were engaged?”

  “Something like that.”

  The conversation is flowing more easily now, but I’m still a long way from mission complete.

  She nods quietly again. Her legs have stopped swinging. “So you want me to be like your fake fiancée?”

  “Yes.” I almost add ‘I’ll pay you’ before thinking better of it.

  She gives a small laugh, the soft trill of her voice music to my fucking ears. “It’s not the way I thought I’d receive my first proposal, but I can understand why you’re doing it. I mean, this isn’t some sort of prank, is it? Am I being pumped?

  I almost choke at that. “Do you mean ‘punked’?” Though I’d love to pump her, fill her up with my fat cock until she can barely breathe.

  “Yeah, sorry.” Her finger flits around her ear. “I’m a real airhead sometimes.”

  “I think you’re selling yourself short,” I tell her, starting to remember my charm.

  “You do?”

  “For sure. You’re beautiful, attractive, clearly passionate about things that matter to you. Any guy would be lucky to have you.”

  Her cheeks start to light up again. She looks down. “That’s sweet, but are you sure you don’t want to ask one of my friends? My friend Jenny, for example, would definitely go for this.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t want Jenny. I want you. You’re the one.”

  There’s a line I never thought I’d be using.

  She’s thinking it over, actually considering it. Those bright, lapis eyes meet mine. “What would I have to do exactly?”

  I have a few ideas… I shift to hide my burgeoning erection. I feel like a fucking door-to-door salesman here, a scam artist. “Not much. You’d meet her, my mother, talk up my many wonderful qualities.”

  “How did you do it?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Propose to me?”

  I hadn’t thought this far ahead. I improvise. “I suppose it was at the city zoo, kind of cheesy. I made sure they called you up to the front during one those bird shows, had a phoenix swoop down onto your shoulder and drop the ring into your hand.”

  “With a handwritten note?”

  “Of course.”

  “You do realize phoenixes aren’t real, right?”

  I shrug. “Of course.”

  “How about an eagle?”

  “An American eagle?” I pull my other sleeve up. “Like this guy?”

  “That would work.”

  “Agreed.” That smile is doing all kinds of crazy things to my crotch right now.

  She sighs and my confidence slips. “I’ll
have to think about it.”

  “Of course,” I reply. “Take your time. Think it over.”

  She stands. “I will.”

  I stand to meet her. Silence starts to fill in the space between us.

  She points behind herself. “I guess I’ll get going then.”

  It’s Swinging Dick déjà vu.

  I scratch my head. “Sure. Yeah. Talk later.”

  She smiles and turns, head down as she walks back into the sunlight.

  I sit and watch her, my heart pumping like I’m back in battle, only this time there are no IEDs or snipers. No one’s actively trying to kill me, though Mom just might if she figures this out.

  What are you going to do if she turns you down? I think.

  It’s a good question. I could hire an escort, have her call herself Shannon. No, Mom would see right through it.

  The funny thing is, I think Mom would actually like Shannon, the slightly off-kilter way she conducts herself so different to my own, stiff lifestyle. The whole animal-lover thing would go down well, too. Mom’s already decided to donate what little she has saved to the ASPCA when she passes.

  Shannon’s the right choice. I just hope she can pull this off.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  SHANNON

  The animal cages rattle on the backseat of Herbie, my 1969 Volkswagen Beetle. It was Dad’s car, to be precise, but I can’t seem to let it go—like many things in my life, it would seem. It breaks down constantly, with a strange clanking sound at the back that no mechanic’s been able to diagnose yet, but I love him all the same.

  Beyoncé’s singing on the radio: “If you liked it, then you should have put a ring on it.”

  “Oh, oh, oh.”

  “Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh.”

  Put a ring on it. It’s certainly the right soundtrack for the thoughts ping-ponging around my brain—some naughtier than others. Gabe, AKA G. I. Joe, wants me to be his fiancée.

  Fake fiancée, I correct.

  Stupid brain. Always ruining everything.

  It’s true. I’m a sucker for a good cause, and this thing with his mother is a good cause… or at least I want to believe it is. I do want to be close to Gabe, have a relationship with him even if it isn’t exactly real. Besides, I could do with the excitement.